


Of Closed Doors and Opened Windows

by infiniteeight



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: (except for the werewolves), Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, But it's not actually unhealthy, Just different from how humans do things, Kidnapping (not that Barry minds), M/M, Soulmates, The developing bond might look a bit creepy from the outside
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-26 01:24:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17736374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infiniteeight/pseuds/infiniteeight
Summary: Barry is a werewolf who has been shunned by the local packs, but shunned wolves are still expected to attend the annual conclave. Barry goes more because he's hoping they'll change their minds about his status than because he's required to go, but the conclaves are all the same.Not this year. This year, another shunned wolf shows up.





	Of Closed Doors and Opened Windows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wolves_of_Innistrad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolves_of_Innistrad/gifts).



> So it occurred to me that the developing werewolf mate bond could look bad to someone who doesn't understand what is happening. Joe refers to it as "an obsession" a couple of times and even Barry (who isn't well educated on his own people) is kind of confused. 
> 
> If you have triggers related to intense emotional attachments, you might want to be a bit careful reading.

Joe pulled the car into the campground parking lot and turned it off. Despite the crisp winter air, the lot was mostly full and other cars were pulling in every moment. The people walking by, headed for the clearing where tents would normally be pitched, were all smiling eagerly at each other. It was a stark contrast to the somber silence inside the car. “You sure you want to do this?” Joe asked.

“I have to,” Barry reminded him.

“Not every year you don’t.”

It was true. Shunned wolves were only required to show up to the conclave once every three years. But this was where all the big decisions were made. “I won’t know if something changes if I’m not here,” Barry said.

Joe sighed, but he didn’t say _We both know nothing’s going to change_. They’d had that argument too many times already. During college Barry had only attended two conclaves. Joe had been vocal, at the time, about how much happier Barry had been when he didn’t go so often. But Barry had tried dating while he was away, and although a couple of those relationships had gone pretty well, there was something missing that he’d eventually come to believe he could only find with another wolf. If there was any chance that something might change about his status, he needed to know, and that was the sort of thing you had to be at the conclave for.

“I’ll be back to pick you up at dawn,” Joe said.

Barry offered him a small smile. “Thanks.”

He got out of the car, but he couldn’t really be said to be joining the stream of people headed for the clearing. The moment the car door opened, a bubble of space ten feet across formed around him. It stayed that way, no matter which path he chose. Barry wasn’t exactly proud of it, but he still picked the path that would force the most people to move; making them get out of the way was the most acknowledgement he’d get all day. 

The clearing where campers would normally have pitched tents or set up picnic tables now featured a plain wooden platform just at the edge of the treeline. Whichever pack was hosting would speak from there, as would anyone with business to present to the full conclave. At the moment the platform was empty, though nearly a thousand people from almost every demographic milled about on the grass below. Noticeable by their absence, at least to Barry, were any type of disabled people. These were wolves--any injury serious enough to leave permanent damage behind was more likely to be lethal.

Almost everyone had arrived, which was how Barry had planned it. The only thing that sucked more than being here at all was waiting for the conclave to _start_.

He glanced around while he waited for the last stragglers to trickle in. There were six packs close enough to Central to attend this conclave, and it was easy to pick them out by the breaks in the crowd. They weren’t avoiding mixing, not really, but packs always tended to stay together. 

Everything looked normal, no pack noticeably bigger or smaller or more tense than usual. Barry had settled in to endure the drone of wolf business that had nothing to do with him when he noticed an abrupt stir in the pack to his left. They were turned to look at something on their other side, so Barry sidled a little closer and listened.

“I’m surprised he still attends conclaves,” someone was saying.

“Come on, you know he has to,” was the reply, and for a moment Barry thought they’d noticed him listening.

But then: “And since when has Snart followed anyone’s rules?”

Snart? Who the hell was Snart? After more than a decade of conclaves Barry knew the packs pretty well, and the name had never come up before.

“I’m betting he came just because he knew we wouldn’t like it,” a third person said. “Maybe the other conclaves got too used to him.”

The first person groaned. “You’re probably right, that’s exactly the sort of thing Snart would do.”

The apparently more reasonable second person chimed in again: “There’s a reason shunned wolves have to come to the conclaves. Would you really want Snart running around completely unsupervised?”

“Being ‘supervised,’” Barry could hear the air quotes in the third person’s voice, “hasn’t stopped him from being a _criminal_.”

“A criminal?” Barry blurted out, and the cluster of wolves snapped around, saw him, scowled, and promptly moved off an irritated and deliberate ten or fifteen feet. Barry sighed and headed in the opposite direction, but his mind quickly returned to the wolf they’d been talking about. Snart. 

Barry couldn’t help but be impressed that any wolf could manage to be a criminal at all--the packs were very conscious of their small size and tenuous position compared to human society and worked damn hard to maintain a positive and unthreatening image. That was actually what had gotten Barry’s parents, and by extension Barry himself, shunned. Wolves were _strictly forbidden_ from making new wolves using The Bite. The idea that someone could be forcibly converted into a wolf was the stuff of human nightmares and the packs would rather that they forgot it was possible at all. But while a wolf couldn’t have children with a human, they could with a bitten wolf. Henry Allen had wanted children very badly, and Nora had loved him very much…

Neither of them had cared about being shunned, as far as Barry could remember. Maybe he wouldn’t have cared, either, if he’d still had them. But the pack had been right, in the end. An anti-wolf group had learned about Nora being changed and had decided to make an example of the Allen family. Barry had survived only because his parents kept them busy fighting for so long.

The packs had decided that taking Barry in after his parents were murdered would look too much like forgiveness for Henry’s transgression, so they’d left him to Joe to raise. But any wolf, whether the packs approved of them or not, could reflect on the whole, which meant that no wolf could be allowed to go their own way. So a wolf could be shunned, but they couldn’t be completely expelled from werewolf society.

That strictness begged the question, how did a wolf end up a criminal at all? Henry and Nora’s offense had only affected the two of them. Until Barry was born, no one could have known. But a wolf that broke the law? The packs would have come down on them ten times as hard as human law and they wouldn’t have required a judge and jury to do it, either. Okay, calling him a criminal _could_ mean that he’d broken the law just once and been shunned for it, but it sounded more like they meant _career_ criminal. Barry’s curiosity burned.

Most years he found a quiet corner to listen from once the packs were assembled and the conclave began. This year, Barry moved around as discreetly as he could, listening for snippets of gossip and keeping an eye peeled for a wolf other the others avoided. Other than himself.

It wasn’t hard to pick up more information. Snart showing up at the conclave was apparently big news; word was he spent a lot of time outside of Central City. According to gossip, he left whenever he needed to let the heat die down from a heist, which happened a couple of times a year.

A heist, as in: Snart was a professional thief.

And not a small time one, either, at least according to the wolves doing the talking. His targets were worth tens of millions of dollars. They tended to be well protected and highly publicized, too, which meant that there was _a lot_ of attention from the police whenever Snart pulled off a theft. Despite that, he’d never been charged, never mind convicted.

As a forensic scientist, Barry felt vaguely guilty that he was more intrigued by Snart than he was angry that the thief had never been caught. It wasn’t unusual for a case to fall apart at trial, but for Snart to have avoided being charged required a whole other level of planning and attention to detail. 

When the conclave actually began and the chatting died down Barry found himself a decent vantage point and started searching the clearing for Snart. He had no idea what the other wolf looked like, but considering how the others treated Barry, surely it wouldn’t take long to spot him.

It did. 

Not because the others didn’t shun Snart the same way, but because Barry had assumed that Snart would be lingering around the edges the way Barry always did. But Snart wasn’t trying to go unnoticed. Instead, he’d staked out a spot directly across from the speaker’s platform. He was surrounded by a bubble of the space the same way Barry always was, but it was smaller--presumably because the others wanted to be _somewhere_ near the platform--and the wolves closest to him were glaring instead of ignoring him.

For his part, Snart looked relaxed. He was wearing black jeans and a dark blue canvas jacket and he had his hands in his pockets, his weight resting on his heels. At first glance he didn’t seem much like the image the almost larger than life image the gossip had started to paint in Barry’s mind. He was about Barry’s height, maybe a bit broader but nothing extreme. His hair, shaved almost to the scalp, was starting to gray. His features were… Okay, Barry had to admit that Snart was attractive. Very attractive. Maybe the most… 

Well. Sudden rush of hormones aside, Snart didn’t seem so different from the others here, not until you got to his expression, especially his eyes. Those eyes were sharp and challenging. Barry looked at Snart and saw a _wolf_ in a way he didn’t when he looked at anyone else at the conclave. Snart made Barry want to slide into his other shape, to go running, to find a good hunt the way he hadn’t in far too long. 

Snart was smirking up at wolf currently occupying the platform, daring them to acknowledge him. The speaker, one of the attending Pack Leaders, stood off center on the platform and was attempting not to look at Snart. They were having trouble, considering that he was managing to take up the entire area immediately in front of the stage. Barry bit back a smile at the speaker’s obvious discomfort.

This conclave felt shorter than it had been in past years. From the grumbling around him, it was shorter than planned this year, too. There hadn’t been much discussion, and people were blaming Snart’s presence. If that was true, Barry hoped he’d get the chance to thank the wolf.

But although Barry spent the entire post-conclave run and hunt searching for Snart in the forest, he never found another lone wolf running through the trees.

*

Barry didn’t mention Snart to Joe when Joe picked him up. It wasn’t just that he knew that Joe wouldn’t like Barry being so interested in a criminal. It was that the idea of Snart seemed full of _possibility_. Snart did what he wanted and thumbed his nose at the packs. He might show up to the conclaves, but when Barry saw him nothing about him seemed like he was bending to pack laws. Barry had felt weighed down by his pack status his whole life.

So Barry kept quiet. The conclave was on Saturday and he was so focused on not blurting out something about Snart that he hardly talked all day Sunday. Joe shot him worried glances. Barry smiled and promised nothing was wrong and was desperately relieved when he got to work on Monday.

He didn’t even try to tell himself that he wasn’t going to use police resources to look up Snart. It only took a handful of keystrokes to bring up Snart’s file. His first name was _Leonard_. Barry grimaced in sympathy. 

After his name, the first thing Barry looked for was to see if Snart was under suspicion--since he’d never been charged--of any murders. Barry honestly wasn’t sure if that would kill his fascination, but he needed to know. It turned out Snart _was_ listed as a suspect or a suspected accomplice in several homicides… all of them connected to jobs run by Snart’s father, Lewis. Those jobs aren’t short of evidence, either. It’s clear from the files that Lewis Snart wasn’t fond of planning and relied on violence to make up the difference. Right up until his sloppiness turned him into one of the bodies on the floor. 

Leonard Snart was exactly the opposite. So much so that Barry thought it had to be intentional. His plans were well researched, meticulous, and timed down to the second. What they were not was _discreet_. Considering his obvious skill, Barry was sure that Snart could have set himself up for life without ever being so much as a suspect. Instead, he prefered high profile targets and impressive, flashy heists. 

He’d been arrested, without charges, several times, and he was always happy to talk to the detectives, refraining from lawyering up. Snart never incriminated himself or his partners, but it was obvious that he liked people knowing what he’d done and how, and he was smug as hell that they couldn’t prove it.

Most interesting of all, there was hardly any mention in his file of Snart being a wolf. There were one or two comments in detectives’ notes that it was interesting that he didn’t rely on his advantages in strength and healing the way his father had, and it had come up once in each of his interrogations. The detective would ask if any of the local packs were involved, and Snart would deny it. If the line of questioning was pressed, Snart stopped talking. It was the only time he stopped talking, and all but one of the detectives had subsequently abandoned that line of questioning, since he was so willing to talk otherwise. The one detective who had pressed the issue had been sure that Snart’s silence meant something and had been determined to wait him out. Eighteen hours later, without a single additional word from Snart, they’d been forced to release him.

Barry got so absorbed in reading through everything the station has on Snart that he forgot to do his _actual_ work for the day. That got him yelled at by the Captain, which wouldn’t be so bad--nothing was urgent and Captain Singh has yelled at Barry enough that he can tell the Captain knew it--except that Joe was there when it happened. Joe wouldn’t let Barry’s distraction go nearly as easily, especially since Barry had been acting weird since the conclave.

Sure enough, they’d barely started the drive home for the day before Joe brought it up. “You want to tell me what that was about?”

He had his concerned voice on, for now, and Barry decided that there was no point in holding out until Joe got angry. “I was distracted, that’s all.”

Joe shot him a glance. “By the same thing that had you brooding all day Sunday?” This wasn’t just ‘concerned voice’, Barry realized. Joe was genuinely worried.

“Yeah, but it’s nothing serious,” Barry hastened to assure him.

“So tell me what’s up.”

Barry bit his lip and wondered if Joe would know the name. “Leonard Snart was at the conclave.”

“Did he do something?” Joe asked sharply, looking away from the road.

“No, he didn’t even talk to anyone, Jesus, Joe, eyes on the road!” Barry yelped.

Joe turned back to driving but Barry suspected his attention wasn’t really there. Maybe this conversation should have waited until they got home. “If he didn’t do anything, why have you been so upset?”

Barry groaned and leaned his head back against the headrest. “I’m not _upset_ , I’m curious. I’ve never met another shunned wolf before, and when Snart showed up the others couldn’t stop talking about him.”

Joe frowned. “Snart is shunned?”

“Of course he is, you know how hardline the packs are about their rules,” Barry says. “I’m more surprised that he’s alive and walking around free. Human justice aside, with the kind of bad press a criminal wolf brings to the pack I kind of thought anyone like that would be chained up in a basement somewhere.”

Joe snorted, but didn’t disagree. Shunning an eleven year old boy who’d just lost both his parents for something done before he was even conceived hadn’t endeared the pack to Joe. Maybe he and Barry were being too harsh, but it didn’t feel like it. “Snart’s father was a cop before he was a thief,” Joe said. “A dirty one. Dirty cops collect everyone else’s dirt, too. I wouldn’t be surprised if the packs are afraid of what Snart might know about them.”

“I can’t decide if I’m more impressed if he has that leverage and successfully walks the line or if he _doesn’t_ have it and keeps doing what he wants anyway,” Barry mused.

“ _Impressed?_ ” Joe looked away from the road again, long enough to pin Barry with his gaze, if not as long as before. “Don’t be impressed, Barr. The man is nothing but a thief.”

A thief no one could hold, not even when he dared them to. A thief with plans so careful and execution so precise that he got away before the guards could even raise their guns. A thief who seemed more interested in whether or not a score was a challenge, whether it was fun, than in the income. Barry wasn’t fooling himself that Snart was some kind of Robin Hood, but he wasn’t _ordinary_ , either. 

Barry didn’t say any of that, though. Joe was worried enough already, and there wasn’t even anything wrong. But Barry couldn’t manage to agree with him, either, and that was enough to garner a concerned, suspicious glance. 

“Give me a couple days to get over the novelty,” Barry said instead. “And everything will go back to normal.”

*

Everything did not go back to normal.

Barry _did_ manage to get back to work properly the next day, but there was still downtime while tests were running. He could have used that time to get reports ready, or to catch up on the forensics literature. Instead, he re-read Snart’s file. That didn’t halfway satisfy his curiosity, and he found himself digging up Lewis Snart’s file and reading the relevant bits of that. Then he went looking for other public records.

Snart wasn’t on any social media, which Barry found himself weirdly grateful for, because when he got through the public records he was already starting to feel like a stalker. That didn’t stop him from reading them, though.

Barry told himself he was going to stop there. He’d learned all he could about Snart, which was probably too much already, and his curiosity would have to be satisfied with that. Barry laid in bed at night and repeated that logic over and over again, but it wouldn’t stick, and it didn’t feel like simple curiosity anymore. The more Barry thought about it, the more he caught himself thinking that maybe the fact that reading about Snart hadn’t satisfied him meant that what he really needed was to _see_ the man. Maybe speak to him, since he’d seen him already at the conclave.

 _This isn’t normal._ Barry thought. He’d never felt this _need_ to know about someone or something before, not for his college girl- and boy-friends, not for Iris, not even for the full truth about his parents’ murder, when Joe had refused to tell him. It was intense enough that he thought it should be scary, but it _wasn’t_ scary, and that made him wonder if it was a problem that it wasn’t.

That mental loop was enough to stop him from taking things further, at least. Like asking Felicity to track down Snart’s current address. Which he absolutely hadn’t considered. 

And then, on his way into work one day, Barry glanced across the street at the diner that faced the precinct and spotted a familiar profile in one of the booths.

He stopped walking for a moment and stared. “It’s not him,” Barry said to himself. It was too far away to see clearly. Barry had just spent too much time looking at pictures of Snart. “He doesn’t even know you exist.” 

But after that, Barry swore he was seeing Snart everywhere. In the diner again. Among the crowd of looky-loos at a crime scene. At the end of the bar when Barry went out for drinks with Cisco and Caitlin. He was starting to think he really was going nuts and maybe he should talk to someone when Joe came up to his lab, looking serious.

“Barry,” he said carefully, “are you still digging into Snart’s files?”

“No,” Barry said, surprised, because he actually hadn’t poked around those files for almost a week. Not due to self-control or fading interest -- he kind of had them nearly memorized.

Joe pursed his lips. “You’re sure?”

“I know what I’ve been reading, Joe,” Barry said dryly. He put down the sample he’d been preparing and turned to face Joe more directly. “Is something wrong?”

Sighing, Joe ran a hand over his head. “One of the other detectives’ informants says that _Snart_ has been looking into _you_. I have to assume he heard about you poking around his records and decided to return the favor.”

A thrill went through Barry. Not of fear, but of _excitement_. He quickly ducked his head, as if unsettled, to give himself a minute to control his expression. “Well…” Barry said slowly. He looked up again when he felt safe, “He must have looked and then stopped, right? I mean, there’s nothing interesting about me.”

“Except that you’re a shunned wolf,” Joe pointed out. “He might find that just as interesting as you did. But when Snart is interested, that’s dangerous.”

Barry’s heart was beating so hard he was a little afraid that Joe would be able to see it. Or hear it, somehow. “You think he might try something?”

“I’m worried about it, yeah,” Joe said. “I asked the Captain about putting a protection detail on you--” Barry heart fell “--but he said there wasn’t any evidence of a threat.” It was an effort not to visibly relax.

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Barry promised earnestly. 

He meant it, too. He really would keep an eye out. But no matter how worried Joe was, Barry didn’t feel at all afraid. Maybe it was knowing from his file that Snart didn’t kill people if he didn’t have to, but Barry didn’t think so. Some instinct told Barry that Snart would never hurt _him_ specifically.

It didn’t make any sense. They’d never even made eye contact. But all the logic Barry could bring to bear didn’t shake his certainty that he’d be safe with Snart. So, yeah, Barry would keep an eye out, but not so that he could call for help. He’d do it because maybe he really would have a chance to speak to Snart.

There was no sign of Snart the next day, or the day after. Barry couldn’t help the way his heart fell. Maybe Snart had heard that Joe had caught wind of his interest and had decided to back off. On the third day, Barry hung his head a on the way home from work instead of looking around constantly for any sign of the other wolf. 

With his head down, Barry only just caught sight of someone rushing down the street before they slammed into him, spinning him halfway around. “Hey!” Barry shouted, head coming up, stumbling almost off the sidewalk. Whoever it had been had blended back into the crowd. Scowling, Barry rubbed a spot just below his shoulder that was aching something fierce. He hadn’t thought they’d hit him quite _that_ hard. His head started spinning and he blinked. They _definitely_ hadn’t hit his head. Barry leaned against the nearest building and rubbed his eyes. Was he going to pass out?

Someone stepped up in front of him. They were wearing a black shirt and a dark blue coat. It took Barry a minute to drag his eyes up to see their face.

It was Snart.

“Oh,” Barry said. “It’s you.” 

Blackness.

*

Barry swam up out of unconsciousness, head still spinning. He blinked a few times, trying to get rid of the dry feeling in his eyes, and ran his tongue over his teeth, trying to do the same for his mouth. As his vision cleared, he oriented himself.

He was tied to a chair in the middle of a very large, very empty room. The floor was concrete and the windows were so smeared with dirt that the light coming in was tinted brown. There were light fixtures way up high, but none of them were on; the only illumination was the daylight. Some kind of warehouse, probably abandoned.

Barry checked the ropes around his wrists and ankles carefully. They were well tied, but not so tight that his hands or feet would go numb. Squirming around a bit, he realized that he still had his wallet, phone, and keys in his pockets. That was weird, right? It seemed weird, but Barry had never been kidnapped before.

Door hinges squeaked from behind Barry and he craned his neck, but couldn’t turn far enough to see what was happening. There were footsteps, walking briskly but not rushing, and then Leonard Snart came around in front of Barry. He was carrying a chair, and a smirk tilted his mouth as he set it down and took a seat. “Barry Allen,” he drawled.

Barry sat up straighter and bit back the urge to smile. Who knew how Snart would interpret that. “Leonard Snart,” he replied. “You know, if you wanted to talk, you could have just asked.”

“And you would have come quietly?” Snart said, and huffed a laugh, as if the idea was ridiculous.

Barry did smile, then. Snart’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah,” Barry said, wondering if he was giving away too much even as he answered. “I would have.”

“Why the interest?” Snart asked sharply.

“I saw you at the conclave.” Barry shrugged and looked away, suddenly embarrassed. “I thought I was the only shunned wolf in Central.”

“Didn’t see _you_ at the conclave,” Snart said.

Barry made himself look back at Snart. He’d tilted his head a little and was examining Barry like he was a puzzle. Barry shrugged. “I keep to the back, out of the way.”

Snart raised his eyebrows. “Why?”

“They’re not there for me,” Barry said. “Why take up space they’re using when I don’t even need it?”

Snart leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and looked Barry right in the eye. “To force them to acknowledge their decisions,” he said. “To make them remember that you exist and that they judged you. Because they cast you out, but refused to let you move on with your life, instead chaining you to their narrow little world. They don’t _deserve_ to be comfortable, Barry. Don’t shove yourself into a corner for _them_.”

Barry felt captivated. Snart’s blue eyes flashed intensely when he spoke, tension thrumming through his shoulders and giving his voice and edge. Barry didn’t even realize he was leaning forward until the ropes caught him. “They thought they were protecting themselves,” he said, more because he wanted Snart to keep talking than because he felt the need to defend the packs.

Snart barked a laugh. “Sure. Because their insular club are they only ones worth protecting, in their eyes. They didn’t lift a finger to help my sister when my father was breaking her bones, but they were happy to cast me out when I made him _stop_.” Barry caught his breath, because that was the next thing to a confession, but no outrage sparked in him. Not for the murder, anyway. _Breaking her bones_ twisted his gut because there was no way that Snart would have stood back and let that happen. Barry’s betting he had the lion’s share of the broken bones. 

Snart straightened up, still holding Barry’s gaze. “They certainly didn’t care about protecting you after your parents were murdered, and you hadn’t done anything, even according to their rules. If we can’t leave them behind, they should at least they look us in the eye.”

“Why _can’t_ we leave them behind?” Barry asked. ”Why not just… not go to the conclave at all?”

Snart’s lips twisted bitterly. “I tried. Just after my father… died. I don’t intend to repeat the year that followed. Pack prisons aren’t regulated like human ones.”

 _Chained up in a basement somewhere_ Barry had said to Joe, half joking. He went cold at the thought that it wasn’t a joke at all. 

“I can’t decide if I’m horrified that it was a whole year or relieved it wasn’t longer,” Barry admitted. 

Snart gave him another long, considering look. “Pack prisons aren’t staffed like human prisons, either. It was a lot of work to keep me like that. They’d have done it, if they had to, but they were looking for reasons to stop. I made sure they knew I’d gotten the point.”

“I’m surprised they locked you up like that for skipping a meeting, but not for being a thief,” Barry said. He shifted, rolling his shoulders and flexing his arms to try and relieve some of the stiffness.

“If I untie you,” Snart said slowly, “will you go?”

Barry paused. Everything he’d read about Snart said he was meticulous about his plans. T’s crossed, I’s dotted, and a contingency plan for every outcome. Untying someone he’d kidnapped when the room wasn’t secure and he was alone didn’t fit with that care. Neither, Barry realized, did leaving him his belongings. Just like Barry developing a fascination with a criminal didn’t fit. There was something going on here--with _both_ of them. “I’ll stay,” Barry answered. “But why would you trust me like that?”

“Don’t know.” Snart got up and went around behind Barry. “But I believe you.” After a moment the ropes loosened and fell away.

Barry rubbed at his wrists and shoulders for a minute while Snart reclaimed his seat and wound up the rope into a neat twist. They just looked at each other for awhile. 

“Did you really steal the Untouchable Guardian in the middle of the reception to open the display?” Barry asked eventually.

Snart smirked. “Is this on the record?”

Barry rolled his eyes. “Of course not. I read about it and I can’t figure out how you did it. You can’t exactly slip a 500 lb golden monkey statue into your back pocket.”

Snart leaned back in his chair and stretched “Well, hypothetically speaking…”

The conversation wandered from Snart’s ‘hypothetical’ exploits to Barry’s childhood to Snart’s ‘associates’, some of whom were such caricatures Barry would have wondered if they were real if not for some of the craziness he’d seen in his job.

He wasn’t sure how long he and Snart ended up talking, because when he pulled his phone out to check, the battery was dead. He frowned. It had been fully charged that morning.

“It rang continuously for awhile when you were out,” Snart said, watching him. “You have somewhere to be?”

Barry looked up. “Not technically, but Joe has to be worried. He was already concerned when he heard you were looking into me.”

Snart’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not done with you.” 

It could have sounded like a threat. Maybe it _should_ have sounded like a threat. But Barry wasn’t done with Snart, either. “If Joe gets everyone at the precinct up in arms over me going missing it’ll make both our lives a lot harder,” Barry said regretfully. 

“You’ve been ‘missing’ less than six hours,” Snart argued.

“More than long enough for Joe’s protective instincts to kick in,” Barry countered. “It’s not that I _want_ to go, but I think I have to.”

Snart thought for a long minute. “If I call you, will you pick up?”

Barry’s heart leapt. “Yes.”

“Then I suppose you had better go,” Snart said grudgingly. He didn’t ask for Barry’s number, but that wasn’t a surprise. It was listed. Barry didn’t have Snart’s, but he didn’t ask either--without any way to write it down he’d just forget it. He’d have to wait for the call. 

When he got home Barry could hear Joe’s voice through the door. Not clearly enough to pick out words, but it was a bad sign regardless. He used his key and stepped inside.

Joe was pacing the living room, phone to his ear. He spun at the sound of the door and relief flooded his face. “Nevermind,” he said into the phone. “He’s home.” He hung up before whoever was on the other end could possibly reply and crossed the room, pulling Barry into a hug before he could even step out of the entryway.

“Joe what’s wrong?” Barry asked, hugging him back.

Joe stepped back out of the embrace but didn’t let go of Barry’s shoulders, instead turning him this way and that and looking him over. “Are you okay? A uniform saw you get snatched off the street. It was Snart, wasn’t it? I tried to get the Captain to send uniforms around to Snart’s usual places but he said he couldn’t without a ‘credible threat’.” Joe scowled. “Apparently being kidnapped didn’t count because the uniform couldn’t identify Snart.”

“Joe, I’m fine,” Barry said. “I’m not sure it even counts as a kidnapping.”

Joe’s eyebrows flew up and he pulled Barry into the living room proper, pressing him down to sit on the couch and sitting on the coffee table directly across from him, forearms braced on his knees. “You collapsed and were stuffed into a car. I’m betting he drugged you. How is that not a kidnapping?”

Barry decided to keep the ropes to himself. He shrugged and offered, “I wanted to be there?”

Joe’s expression darkened. “How do you not see how dangerous this obsession of yours is? The man _drugged_ you and dragged you off to god knows where for hours. How did you even get away?”

“He let me go. He doesn’t want to hurt me, Joe,” Barry said. “He just wanted to talk. There’s something, I don’t know, a connection? Between us. He feels it, too, I can tell.”

Joe rubbed his hands over his face and across his hair. “I think you need to see a psychologist, Barry,” he said heavily.

Barry shot to his feet and took a couple of paces himself. “It’s not an obsession, Joe!” he insisted. “I know it looks like one, believe me, I know, but it’s not. I think…” He hesitated. This might not help at all, but what else was he going to say? “I think it might be a wolf thing.”

“Just because you’re both wolves doesn’t make it a wolf thing,” Joe argued.

“It doesn’t make it not a wolf thing, either,” Barry said. “This feels like--” Honestly, it felt like the opposite of the inability to connect that he’d felt with the humans he’d dated at college, but he wasn’t about to make _that_ comparison to Joe. He started over. “It reminds me of the connection I had with my parents. It’s not the same, obviously, but it feels _tangible_ in a way that connection felt.”

Joe looked skeptical, but he’d never really understood Barry’s parental pack bonds, either. He thought of them the same way he thought of human bonds of friendship or love--real in the way emotions were real, but anything beyond that went into the same mental box as psychic abilities. Barry had tried to show him studies that proved that pack bonds had been experimentally confirmed to exist in a way ESP never had, but it never sank in.

To his credit, Joe didn’t try to tell Barry that those connections weren’t real. “You never even met the man before today. How could you have a formed a bond with him?”

Barry winced even as he spoke, knowing how Joe would take it, but not having any other answer: “I think seeing him was all it took.”

Of course Joe scoffed. “Love at first sight, Barry? 

“Not love, just a connection,” Barry said, but he could tell Joe wasn’t listening anymore. He sat down heavily on the couch.

“You have to keep your distance from everything to do with Snart,” Joe said intently. “No more poking around his records, police or otherwise. And you need to talk to the captain, tell him Snart grabbed you so that we can get a couple of uniforms on him.”

“I’m not going to do that,” Barry said quietly. 

“Barr--!”

“He’s not going to hurt me!” Barry insisted. “But he might hurt whoever the captain sends to watch him. Please trust me on this, Joe. It’s best to just leave things as they are”

Joe glared at him. “I _can’t_ trust you on this, Barry. You haven’t been rational about Snart since the conclave.”

Barry groaned and flopped back against the couch, eyeing the ceiling. “Look,” he said after a moment, turning back to Joe, “give it a few days. Let me prove that I’m not in danger.”

Joe pursed his lips, then shook his head once. “I don’t have much of a choice, if you won’t talk to the captain,” he admitted. 

Barry carefully concealed his relief. He also turned off the ringer on his phone and stopped answering it when Joe or anyone who might report to Joe was present, just in case an unknown number was enough to set Joe off again.

Snart called for the first time that night and Barry let him know to lay low and stay away from Barry’s records. Not that Snart needed them, now, not when he could just call. They didn’t talk often--at least, not as often as Barry would have liked--but every minute of every call _absorbed_ Barry. Sometimes he closed his eyes just to picture Snart. Whatever this connection between them was, it calmed down the more they talked. Barry was grateful for that--it made it easier to act normal around Joe.

Acting normal was essential, because Joe’s worry barely eased, even after almost two weeks had passed. Valentine’s Day was coming up, and despite how quiet things had been, he was talking about staying home with Barry.

In past years, that would have been perfectly normal. Barry might have liked the _idea_ of Valentine’s Day, but in practice, it had been difficult. Iris had almost always had a date on the day, and Barry spent more than a few years wishing he was that date. After the college relationships that inevitably proved somehow incomplete, Barry realized that a relationship with Iris would be no exception.

He gave up on dating, and Valentine’s Day became time that he and Joe spent together, both of them perpetually single and trying not to think too hard about what Iris was up to. But Joe had been seeing Cecile Horton for almost six months now. He _should_ be planning a night out with her.

Instead he was facing off with Barry in their living room.

Barry crossed his arms and fixed Joe with a stubborn look. “You are going out with Cecile for Valentine’s.”

Joe had his hands on his hips. It was the same pose he used to take when he was laying down the law for Barry as a child. “I’m not leaving you alone at home when you’re being stalked.”

Barry threw his hands up. “I’m not being _stalked!_ You haven’t heard _anything_ about Snart in almost two weeks, and I know you’ve been asking around.”

Joe didn’t move an inch, stony faced. “He _kidnapped_ you.”

Barry groaned and turned away from Joe, pacing between the couch and the fireplace. The worst part was, he couldn’t really argue. Strictly speaking, Snart _had_ kidnapped him. That Barry had been perfectly happy to be kidnapped only worried Joe more. For the thousandth time, Barry wished that Snart had just asked him if he wanted to talk and let him call Joe with an excuse.

Even if part of Barry loved that Snart wanted to talk to him too much to take any chances that it wouldn’t happen.

“Look,” Barry said firmly, turning back to Joe. “Snart is not going to show up out of nowhere and whisk me away to his evil lair. He heard I was looking into him, he checked me out, and he decided I wasn’t a threat. I’m not in danger.” All of which was true--if Snart did show up it wouldn’t be entirely out of nowhere given their phone calls, and an evil lair certainly wouldn’t be involved.

“And what about this ‘connection’ of yours?” Joe shot back.

Of course Joe would bring that up now when he wouldn’t take it seriously any other time. “You can’t have it both ways,” Barry said. “Either the connection is real and Snart isn’t a threat because he feels it, or it’s not real and he’s not a threat because he doesn’t care about me.”

“And what if he feels it and he gets angry because he can’t do anything about it?” Joe said. “Valentine’s Day is dangerous as hell in those circumstances.”

Somehow Barry didn’t think Joe would appreciate ‘He can do anything about it that he wants’ as a response. 

Instead, Barry gentled his voice. “Joe, you don’t even believe there’s any connection. Things have been normal for the past couple of weeks, right?” Joe sighed and rubbed a hand over his head. He was wavering. Barry knew that he really wanted to go out with Cecile. “I’ll be fine,” Barry promised. 

“I wish Captain Singh had let me put a uniform on you,” Joe muttered.

“I’m not in danger,” Barry repeated. “And I’ll feel terrible if you stay home just because you’re worried about me. I’m an adult, I can take care of myself. You have a great thing going with Cecile--I want you to enjoy it.” He almost reminded Joe that he was a wolf, since wolves were more durable than humans, but that might remind Joe that Len was a wolf, too. Barry wished now that he hadn’t said anything about his interest in Snart being a ‘wolf thing’. He should have known that would backfire--wolf stuff had always made Joe uneasy.

“I’m going to worry about you no matter how old you get,” Joe said, but he sat down next to Barry. “That’s what parents do.”

They repeated essentially the same conversation every day up until Valentine’s, but Barry was successful in the end, even if Joe insisted on giving him a panic button and a twenty minute lecture before he actually stepped out the door for his date.

Anticipation sang across Barry’s nerves from the moment Joe locked the door behind himself. He wasn’t _expecting_ anything--Snart hadn’t said anything, hadn’t even called since Barry mentioned that Joe’s paranoia was spiking. Despite that, when the knock on the door came and Barry’s heart leapt, it wasn’t in surprise.

He hasn’t totally lost his mind--he did check to see who was there first. Snart was standing on the step, as calm and confident as if this wasn’t a detective’s home. Barry opened the door to him without hesitation.

“Barry,” Snart drawled, low and full of intent. He wasn’t dressed up, just wearing black jeans and a black shirt under a faded canvas jacket, but neither was Barry--dressing up would have raised all kinds of alarm bells with Joe. Besides, it wasn’t like Snart could take Barry on a date.

“Snart,” Barry said, heart pounding. 

Snart’s lips curve into a dangerous smile. “Call me Len,” he suggested.

“Len,” Barry repeated. It sent a thrill through him. Despite their phone calls Snart had never invited Barry to use his name before. Maybe because of the risk that Barry would slip up when talking to Joe and get them both in deep trouble, maybe because Snart didn’t let people in like that. Either way, giving Barry his name now added weight to the moment. Barry didn’t step back from the threshold, though.

“If I don’t let you in,” Barry said, apologetically, “then I can tell Joe you weren’t here. Sort of.”

The corner of Len’s mouth quirked up. “We’re going out, anyway.”

“Out?” Barry glanced down at his sweater and khakis. Should he have dressed up after all? Or dressed down?

Len chuckled. “For a run,” he said. “Don’t bother with the track pants, though. You won’t need them.”

Barry flushed, grinned, and grabbed his keys and jacket from their places next to the door.

When he saw the motorcycle waiting at the curb Barry’s heart skipped a beat. He was going to be pressed up against Len, thinking about what Len’s wolf would look like, for at least twenty minutes--that was the closest place safe for wolves to run in. Longer if Len wanted something less likely to be crowded on Valentine’s Day.

The look Len gave him as he handed Barry a helmet said he knew exactly what Barry was thinking. Maybe that was why he’d brought the bike. Barry felt his cheeks warm at the thought, and Len smirked.

The ride was just as amazing and torturous as Barry expected. Len was warm and solid between Barry’s thighs, and despite the fact that Barry’s nose was basically useless in human form he smelled _amazing_. Barry kept his eyes closed for most of the trip, not because he was afraid but because the wind rushing by made it feel like they were alone in the world, and he wanted more of that feeling, wanted to wrap every sense in Len, or block them out if he couldn’t. He was almost sorry when they eased to a stop.

But only almost, because it had definitely been longer than twenty minutes and now Barry had the rich, layered scent of the forest in his nose. He opened his eyes to a cul-de-sac style parking lot surrounding by evergreens and knew immediately where they were: it was a small park about fifteen minutes outside of Central City. The place wasn’t popular with most wolves because it was too small for an entire pack. Here, Barry and Len would be able to run together undisturbed.

When Len dismounted the bike and pulled off his helmet he looked almost nervous. Barry quickly followed suit so that Len can see the way he was beaming. He had never really run _with_ another wolf before. There had been other wolves around, but if they noticed Barry at all it was only to steer clear of him.

Len’s shoulders relaxed and he held out his hand for Barry’s helmet. “There’s a clearing a short way up the path,” he said as he secured the helmets to the bike and untied an empty canvas messenger bag from behind the seat. “We can leave our clothes there.”

“What, not right here with the bike?” Barry joked.

Len shot him a sly look. “Not taking the risk anyone _else_ gets to see you naked.”

Barry flushed, but he’s going to get to see _Len_ naked, too. The anticipation took the edge off any embarrassment he might have felt. 

Len led the way out of the parking lot and up a small path. The entrance was signposted as a hiking trail, but it didn’t take long before Len veered off the path. He seemed as comfortable pushing through shrubs and climbing over uneven ground as he did on the bike. Barry felt awkward by comparison. He probably didn’t go running enough -- it was hard to make the time when he’d be out there alone. But when they broke into the clearing and Len turned to watch Barry join him, his expression held nothing but anticipation, like Barry crashing through the forest made no difference to him. 

They disrobed silently, but neither of them tried to pretend they weren’t looking. Barry had always thought Len was gorgeous, but as his clothes came off Barry saw how strong he was. Not physically -- he was more muscular than Barry, but not by that much -- but in terms of spirit. Len’s body was covered with scars. They came in such variety that, even with his experience as a CSI, Barry wasn’t sure what caused a lot of them. 

Len’s gaze swept boldly over Barry’s bare body, too. “You a runner?” he asked.

Barry had the lanky body for it, but: “Not in this shape.”

Interest sharpened Len’s gaze. “In the other?”

Barry grinned. “Let’s find out.”

He shifted, and he knew that it was a fast shift. No one had ever said as much, but he’d seen the looks he got when the wolves at the conclave got ready for the annual run. The looks that wondered how a wolf raised by humans could shift so easily. 

Len looked impressed, but not jealous. His shift was slower, but smooth. Graceful. He was a classic gray wolf, larger and more densely furred than Barry. He was beautiful, and Barry couldn’t resist trotting over to Len to get his scent. It was forward, but Barry was always less inhibited when he changed and he was already pretty bad about restraining himself with Len. Len reciprocated, anyway, so it didn’t matter.

And God, did he smell good! He smelled _right_. Part of Barry wanted to spend the whole night curled up with that scent. But then Len hip-checked him hard enough to knock him a couple of steps away. He answered Barry’s affronted whine with a short growl and a play-lunge.

Right. They were planning to run. Barry let out a short bark and turned in a quick circle before taking off through the woods. 

Len followed, but Barry knew immediately that he was faster. He wasn’t surprised--Barry had yet to find a wolf faster than he was. The others might not want to run with him, but he’d seen enough of their pack chases to know, anyway. Joe had always been confused by it, because Barry was a terrible runner in human shape, but although his wolf shape was just as real and physical as the other, the connection between them wasn’t that simple. Saying he should be bad at running in wolf shape just because he was bad in human shape was like saying he should be bad at walking on his feet because he was bad at walking on his hands just because they were both parts of his body.

Barry just enjoyed it. The forest was a blur of gray-green and gray-violet rushing past him, but so clear despite the darkness. The tree scent was strong around him, and the dirt was rich and fertile under him. He stretched his legs, dodging around and leaping over obstacles with barely a pause, keeping an ear out for Len and slowing occasionally so he didn’t lose the other wolf. The rhythm of another set of paws in time with his own, the whiff of scent drifting forward, they made this _so much better_ than running alone.

After awhile, Barry swore he didn’t even need to listen anymore. He _knew_ where Len was, he knew Len was revelling in the wind through his fur as much as Barry was. 

Which meant that Barry noticed right away when Len seemed to vanish from behind him. He slowed, stopped, and then circled back. Anticipation thrummed through him. His, or Len’s? Barry found the closest trace of scent and lowered his nose to it. It was strong, strong enough that when he lifted his head and tried to find another trace he couldn’t be sure he wasn’t just smelling the first one. Barry let out a questioning howl.

The playful bark and spike of excitement that answered him were the only warning he got before Len leapt out of the bush and bowled him over. Barry barked back happily and threw himself into the play-fight. 

Len was just as terrible at play-fighting as Barry was. Their tussle was broken by moments when one of them nipped too hard, or completely failed a pin, or jammed a paw somewhere sensitive. It was perfect. 

The fight trailed off and they lay with their tails draped over each other for a minute. Len fit so _well_. Barry had never felt so connected to anyone. Laying together, their breath fogging the air, he thought of his parents, about how they’d always been able to find each other in a crowd, about how they’d finished each other sentences. The need to be closer to Len that had surprised and confused Barry in human shape made perfect sense now. Len was his mate, and he was Len’s.

When they climbed to their feet again Barry let Len lead the run. Len didn’t try to push their speed, instead making a game of the natural obstacles in the forest. At one point they caught the scent of a rabbit and the chase became a hunt. Together they herded and chased down the animal and though it was Len that caught it with a final leap, satisfaction surged through Barry, too. They shared the kill and nuzzled each other quietly afterward.

Eventually they circled back to the clearing where they had begun. Barry couldn’t help the whine of disappointment that escaped him when they stopped next to the bag of clothes. Len gave him a quick lick before shifting back to human. Barry sighed, long and low, before he followed suit. 

Instead of reaching for his clothing, Len reached for Barry. Barry slid into Len’s arms easily and leaned forward to kiss him. It was a slow kiss, full of wonder and homecoming. When their lips parted they rested their foreheads together. “I’ve read about mating runs,” Barry said quietly. “But I thought they were just regular runs with a fancy title. I didn’t know… I felt a connection between us but I didn’t realize what it could become, or that it needed a run to anchor properly.”

Len ran a hand slowly down Barry’s bare back. Soothing or savoring, Barry wasn’t sure. Both, maybe. “I knew,” Len said, “but I didn’t believe I could have that. I wasn’t sure I was capable. I just wanted to run with you.”

“My parents were mates,” Barry murmured. “Never having the chance to form a bond like that was the thing I hated most about being shunned.” He lifted a hand and gently stroked Len’s cheek. 

“The only pack bond that ever meant anything to me is with my sister.” Len turned into Barry’s touch and brushed his lips against Barry’s palm. “Then there was you.”

They kissed again. Barry swore he could feel the bond between them deepen. 

Eventually, they let go of each other and pulled their clothes on. Barry pressed close to Len on the ride back, savoring the way Len’s body felt against his.

Len approached Barry’s house carefully. Joe’s car was still missing from the driveway--they hadn’t been gone even two hours--so Len pulled up right in front. Barry stepped off the bike. They both took off their helmets and just looked at each other for a long time.

“You should go inside,” Len said eventually.

Barry’s mind was racing. Len was his mate. As deep as their connection had grown, the thought of living off stolen moments and late night phone calls was painful, but if Barry went inside and let Len drive off, that’s exactly what their relationship would be. A couple hours here and there, wedged in around everything else. 

That’s not what Barry wanted. 

“You’re coming with me,” he announced. 

Len’s eyebrows went up. “Detective West will be furious.”

Barry nodded. “Yeah.”

“He’ll try to shoot me.”

“He might pull his gun, but he won’t try to shoot you,” Barry said. “He might try to arrest you, but there isn’t actually enough to charge you with anything if you stay calm, so that won’t stick.” 

Len’s expression went serious. “You’re really willing to go through the shit storm that bringing me home will start?” 

“I don’t want to sneak around with you,” Barry said, “I want you in my _life_. I know it’ll be hard. It’ll be the hardest thing I’ve ever done. It’s worth it.” There was something hiding in in the corners of Len’s expression, a tightness in his eyes and the tilt to his mouth. “ _You’re_ worth it.” A muscle jumped in Len’s jaw, but he didn’t speak. Barry hesitated. He felt like he should give Len an out, but he was pretty sure the man would take it even if he didn’t want to. And he couldn’t want out, not now that they’d bonded properly, not after a run that he’d arranged for _Valentine’s Day_ , no matter how much he hadn’t believed he could really have a mate. Barry didn’t believe for a second that the date was coincidental. So instead of offering Len an out, he lowered his voice and said, quietly, “Stay with me, Len. Keep me, and let me keep you.”

Len closed his eyes briefly. “If Detective West makes you choose?”

“I’ll choose you,” Barry said. Len opened his eyes and Barry looked straight into them. “But if I’m willing to do that, then I expect you to be willing to try to find a middle ground, first.”

“You expect me to go straight?” Len asked, looking away.

“Not really,” Barry admitted. “But I might ask you to not to pull any more jobs in Central.”

Len let out a slow breath. Then he set his shoulders, straightened up, and turned to take the helmet from Barry, securing it and his own on the bike. He dismounted and offered Barry a sardonic grin. “I hope you enjoy fireworks, because I have a feeling we’re in for quite the show.”

Barry grinned back at him. “Well, that’s only right. Fireworks are for celebrations, right?”

Len laughed as he followed Barry into the house.

~End~


End file.
